Rexford Scars
by littleblackneko
Summary: The first time Daniel is admitted and diagnosed, his roommate in the hospital is a young man named Sherlock Holmes (TW- past drug use, self-harm)


In hindsight, it was probably not the wisest choice for the two of them, a paranoid schizophrenic and a depressed, anxiety-ridden drug-addict to be sharing a room in a mental hospital, especially two who were brilliant and prone tolashing out at thos around them. But such was fate. Daniel Pierce and Sherlock Holmes were roommates.

The first conflict came the first time he had Natalie appear. He was talking on and on about something funny that happened at college years back, and the way she was laughing at it felt so real and beautiul that he felt alive for the first time since being admitted. When she reached out and brushed his cheek, he smiled and thought that maybe it wasn't that he was crazy, just lucky. Then his ornery roommate retured from visitation (his boyfriend, Daniel was led to think) and snapped at him.

"If you know there's nothing there, why do you insist on engaging with it?"

Daniel knew there was no good answer to that .

"Because she makes me happy."

"Happy is not always conduscive to sane."

"You think I don't know that!"

"Then why!" It seemed he was the only thing Sherlock couldn't quite figure out.

"That blonde that came to see you...why that?"

"Because without John, I'd already be in the ground."

"Exactly."

Daniel notices the scars about a week in. He knew Sherlock had been on recreational drugs, knew he had been dealing with depressed moods and anxiousness, knew there would be some adverse effects. But that didn't stop the visual shock of them. Vibrant track marks coiled up Sherlock's arms, and the red scabs of self harm laid upon him like a coat from shoulder to wrist.

Now Daniel had never been one who was prone to the razorblade or the desire for a high. He had never needed the caress of steel or a that didn't mean that he didn't have his own wounds. The hole punched in the wall of his apartment as he tried to make it all go away. The books upon books of puzzles stained with ink when he was so desperate to stay out of his head. The memories of the stares he got that made him realize he was talking to thin air. The nights he spent locked in his bedroom, screaming and screaming and scared as he was surrounded by delusions of his mind. The scratches on the inside of his head, desperate to escape. It was the way he saw his father look at him upon discovering the diagnosis. Those were his scars

Then Sherlock saw him staring and gave him a dirty look. Daniel turned away and put his headphones and pretended the world wasn't there.

Daniel was woken up to the sound of fervent scratching. HIs roommate was digging at the scabs on his arms with muddled intensity.

"What the hell? Stop that, you're gonna be in huge trouble!"

"I don't care. I don't deserve to be here. I don't deserve him, don't deserve any one this. It was our anniversary and I overdosed! I don't deserve anyone. He shouldn't have found me so soon. I shouldhave died."

Daniel comes over to him and grabs his arms and holds them down, "Stop. You are sick. We are both sick and crazy and thta's why we're here. No one is blaming you for your conditions, but he is going to be very upset if you open those again. You do deserve him. You do." Daniel doesn't know whether or not he means the comforts he says. They are words he's heard before and didn't believe because that would just be too hard when he can't believe anything. He can't even believe what is presented as reality. Daniel thinks of the people on the outside. He thinks of his dreams and his desires and everything he is outside of his paranoia and his hallucinations. Even if they aren't believed, those are words he deserved to hear when their variance was said to him. Those are words all the mentally sick deserve to hear. Because he has been so afraid.

Sherlock doesn't try to keep attacking after Daniel lets go of his arms and gets him tissue to stem the bleeding.

The next morning, Sherlock doesn't mention the events that occured, but Daniel chooses to believe they were real.

Years later, there's a phone call. Daniel is online reading a blog post in his bedroom. His assistant is watching Star Wars in the next room. He answers the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, _Doctor _Pierce."

"Why, hello, consulting detective."

Not sane. Yet still happy.


End file.
